Jade Alyssa Wallace is a Niagara writer currently doing legal clinic work in Toronto, Ontario. Jade's short stories and poetry have appeared in The Dalhousie Review, The Nashwaak Review, Draft, Feathertale, Poetry Sz, Breakfast in a Day, Pac’n Heat: A Noir Homage To Ms. Pac-Man, and in six chapbooks published by Grey Borders Books. Jade is also one of two ukulele-bearing members of The Leafy Greens, which has been incorrectly described as a 'mother-daughter duo' and a 'psychedelic metal band.'

from Artefacts (2017)

Fossils
the moon must be a prism tonight
forging a dark-side spectrum into white
a misty aura of peppermint light
in the colourless corridors of the night
a sea of ebony seems the sky
its phantom stars a spangled lie
dead lights saved by distance and time
caught in the amber of your bright eye

from The War Comes Home (2012)

nO nONSENSE

if you are in the desert
water (is all that) can save you
in the tundra
fire (is all that) can save you
in the ocean
air (is all that) can save you

but when you’re falling from the sky
nothing can save you
the softest bit of soil
will not cushion your C
R AS H

so quench your arid mind with knowledge
warm your cold heart with passion
take a deep breath to fill wilted lungs
and believe that sometimes it’s all you need

but if you’re icarus, well,
you’re going to need a fuck of a lot of luck

or a backbone
stronger than a space shuttle

from Lemons (2012)

Gretel

I have handfuls of happiness
and I don’t know what to do with them
(I’ve never held anything like it!)

rubs like gold dust between a poor miner’s fingers

how can I hoard it peacefully
when there are so many
empty eager hands?

‘spread the wealth’
my friend suggested

so I’m dropping grains of joy
like seeds all over the green earth
begging the rain to promise me blossoms

but I’m afraid
that these are breadcrumbs
and I’m leading the unsuspecting
into the witch’s candy quarters

from But I don't write haiku (2011)

Julys

farmer’s eyes stare at
the raspberry field: soil where
mother plants her child

from A Book for Judas (2011)

Kiss of Death
So it unfolds, time and time again:
I only want to be friends,
but he turns to me with lustful lips.
I tell myself it’s just one kiss-
how innocuous!
But at the first taste of his overcooked mouth,
I withdraw in no dilatory terms.
Some kind of black magic has left him an old,
carnivorous snail. Strange to behold.
Friendly kisses are queer catalysts.
So I fly. No mistake.
Should have made clear to him,
that was a kiss farewell!
Instead I yell over my shoulder
Well, I must go.
and try to make my voice chime
like a rung knell